


Booboos

by SarahW



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 00:04:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahW/pseuds/SarahW
Summary: Earth is a pretty peculiar planet, a bizarre land of unusual customs where silly earthlings will resort to the most ridiculous techniques in order to heal and comfort each other.Sappy methods that a certain Saiyan Prince is only too happy to lean on whenever his intrepid little girl happens to get into trouble…





	Booboos

“Oh, _mannnn_!” Trunks grumbled in frustration, frowning disappointedly at the brown little bag in his hand as he kept shaking it upside down, long after the depressing realization that the thing was emptier than a poor man’s belly.

“Nothing?” Goten asked with just as much concern, peeking nosily above his best friend’s shoulder, and grimacing worriedly to himself when he shared Trunks’ disheartening discovery.

“Nope, _nothing_…” He replied after a long sigh, a tense hand running through his smooth, lavender hair, his mind racing a million miles a minute, trying to figure out if there was a real chance of his father having yet _another_ secret stash of Senzu beans hidden somewhere around their massive home. “I guess my Dad must have used them all…” 

One of the younger boy’s hands found his pal’s shaky shoulder, giving him a tiny, but sadly ineffective, squeeze of comfort as he braced himself for the wild thunderstorm that was still to come. “Well, I dunno…” He shrugged with naïveté, trying to calm his own nerves down almost as much as his friend’s. “I’m sure it’ll be alright. I mean, it’s just a couple of scratches, right? It’s not like…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just that…” Trunks mumbled glumly to himself, crumbling at the hopelessness of his failed Masterplan. “My Dad is always pretty cool about this kind of stuff, but… But, when it comes to _her_, he can get a little… You _know_…”

“A little what?” A grave voice commanded from behind the nervous couple, the cool, authoritative voice of the one and only man laying down the Law inside the Briefs luxurious household, that is, after his feisty human wife, of course.

“Oh? Ah! Hi, Papa!” The Prince’s son awkwardly stuttered, an edgy smile etching itself on his lips, bumping clumsily into Goten’s uncoordinated frame as they both turned to face the imposing man at once. “Um… _Uh_…”

“A little _what_?” Vegeta reiterated with unnerving serenity, leaning casually, cross-armed, on the bathroom’s doorframe, and eyeing the easily recognizable sachet trembling between Trunks’ sweaty fingers, squinting with suspicion at the pair of teenage pests while pondering over what kind of trouble these two had managed to get themselves into, this time around, and whether this mysterious _‘her’_ they kept referring to was who he thought she was.

The older warrior was already well-aware of the furtive visits that Kakarot’s youngest spawn and Trunks frequently paid to his private supply of beans, and the sort of unspoken rule shared amongst every Saiyan in the house to keep this particular hideaway away from Bulma’s prying eyes.

By now, his days of punitively suicidal training sessions were long over, and the Prince went to great lengths to not cross the line when it came to pushing his own boundaries as a fighter. But a Saiyan’s bellicose instinct still was, at times, much too strong to tame, and Vegeta had finally learnt that a pretty good way to spare his mate from any unnecessary heartache, was to hide his own personal stock of the magic remedy, a useful little trick that the new generation seemed to have caught on with no trouble at all.

“Um… Well…” Trunks hesitated, tripping over his anxious tongue as he struggled to find a way to get out of the dangerously deep waters he’d just stepped into. “It’s just that…” 

“It was… _Uh_…” Goten shyly intruded, hoping to alleviate some of his buddy’s burden. “It was… It was kind of my idea, actually…”

“Truuuuuuuunks!!!” A babyish voice whined from the other side of the corridor, her insane adorableness melting the heart of every living thing in West City at the speed of light. 

“Bra?” Vegeta called in bewilderment, paternal instincts rapidly kicking in, kneeling on the ground the moment he saw the cute brat running frantically towards him. “What…?”

“PAPA!!! PAPA!!!” Bra happily chirped, tiny arms clutching her father’s solid neck when she felt his arms holding her in the safest embrace. “Papa! Guess what?! GUESS WHAT!!!” She asked enthusiastically, fluffy strands of feathery blue hair escaping from her perky pigtails as she looked at him in pure excitement.

“What happened?” The stunned father managed to ask somehow, his brow furrowing in genuine concern at the sight of the ugly, dirty scrape marring the pale palm of his daughter’s hand. “What…?”

“Bra…” Trunks groaned softly, already lamenting the big mess he’d created today, but secretly trusting in his sister’s cheerfulness to bail him out from their father’s rage. “I thought you’d wait for me in my room?”

“_Yah_… But Bra was booooooored!!!” The little Devil pouted sullenly, a round cheek pressed against Vegeta’s when she briefly turned to her pasty-faced brother, completely oblivious to the cold sweat coating his neck as she gave her attentions back to her favorite man in the whole wide world. “Papa! Papa!” She squealed again, one arm firmly holding onto the Prince’s neck as a minute hand kept impatiently smacking his chest. “Bra has a little ball! A LITTLE BALL!!!” 

“A little ball…” Vegeta mumbled distractedly, too preoccupied with the small collection of bruises and scratches covering his child’s naked legs, maneuvering her with great care in his arms as he tried both to get a good look at the damage, _and_ to stop himself from succumbing to the murderous needs taking hold of him whenever he saw one of his children getting hurt in any way. “A little ball?” He questioned, absolutely fascinated by the naïve exhilaration shining in those gorgeous eyes, an enthusiasm revealing that, whatever it was that this mysterious little ball was made of, it must have surely been the most spectacular little ball ever known to Mankind.

“Yup!” Bra proudly grinned. “Trunks and Goten took Bra to the big park! And…! And…!” She stammered, so utterly excited and out of breath that she could hardly finish her childish stories. “And then Trunks told Bra that Bra has a little ball! And…! And he showed her! And…!”

“A little ball…” Vegeta repeated, mulling over his girl’s cryptic tale without the faintest clue as to what on Earth she was talking about.

“And then…! Then Trunks taught Bra how to hide her little ball!” The little doll carried on, paying no mind to her father’s almost comical expression. “And…! And then we played hide-and-seek! And…! And then Bra hid on a tree and Trunks couldn’t find her!” She cackled loudly, bursting into a bout of radiant laughter, as if her victory at such a trivial, infantile game were the greatest triumph in History.

“You had a little ball…” Her astounded father whispered, the shadow of the most frightening scenario looming over his mental horizon. “And Trunks couldn’t _find_…” A sharp pang of horror curled in his stomach, the realization of what his son, and that dummy _‘best friend’_ of his, had been up to, taking his breath away at once. “YOU TAUGHT YOUR SISTER HOW TO HIDE HER _KI_?!” Vegeta spat with fury, standing up right away, and instinctively bringing the moon-eyed child still in his arms even closer to him, ready to unleash Hell over the foolish duo responsible for such negligent idiocy.

It was bad enough that the bubbly girl had become a vital part of his entire existence, ever since his son and wife had placed her in his arms when she was but a minuscule, spike-haired newborn, taking full possession of his grumpy little heart, and filling his days and nights with warm milk, ridiculously oversized diaper bags, and the most bizarre bedtime stories, narrated amongst mountains of colorfully stuffed animals and fluffy pink blankets.

It was even worse that he was enjoying every goddamned minute of it all, throwing himself into his role as a father in ways he never had, much to his shame, when his eldest son had been born, fervently striving to make up for his past missteps, and for having so selfishly neglected his wife’s longtime desire to bring a lovely new addition into their small family.

His daughter’s vivacious entrance into his world had been Vegeta’s most uplifting experience, breathing new life into an already exciting second chance that he’d never even felt truly worthy of, rejoicing in every instant, every precious opportunity to be the man that he _knew_ he should have been right from the start, the devoted man that a woman like Bulma Briefs rightfully needed and deserved. 

And now these careless simpletons had robbed him of one of his greatest comforts, the gift of looking after his child morning, noon and night, through his intimate connection with her luminous life essence, sensing her close to his heart, happy and safe, even during those moments when she wasn’t physically by his side. 

“D-Do you…?! Do you even realize what you’ve _done_?!” The fuming father yelled, his mouth dry as a bone, livid at the mere thought of someone as young and innocent as Bra holding control over a skill that she didn’t fully understand yet, a skill that might end up leaving her completely unprotected should she ever choose to make use of it in times of danger.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Papa…” Trunks apologized dejectedly, head down, the sincere remorse in his mother’s oceanic eyes tugging at Vegeta’s heart as the boy visibly battled his poignant guilt, grasping just how much he’d really messed up this time. “I just… I thought…”

“It was actually my idea, Uncle Vegeta,” Goten interjected, his innate goodness making it impossible for him to stand silent and let his blood brother take the fall on his own, regardless of how intimidating the older warrior’s wrath could be. “And I’m… I’m really sorry too. It’s just that, since… Since you’re always asking us to teach her stuff, we… We thought that…”

“Not _that_, boy!” Vegeta shot back, tense fingers gripping his child’s light summer dress, torn between the fierce protectiveness still tightening in his chest, and his own frustration at how pitifully easy it’d become for those two rascals to soften him up. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve…!”

His words fell flat like a shot, the warm breath ghosting his ear, together with one of those ingenuous stage whispers that could be heard by everyone in the room, mellowing him like the most potent narcotic. 

“It was _funny_, Papa…” Bra confessed in a timid murmur, a shy reminder of the little cub’s uncorrupted purity, a lack of sin only comparable to that of her unique mother.

Vegeta may have survived twenty-five years of bloody mayhem and forced slavery but, if there was one thing he knew beyond a doubt, was that he’d never stand a chance against the darling mannerisms of the two women of his life.

There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ to do against the naïf, miniature version of his Bulma, nothing stopping him from melting like butter at those chubby fingers clutching his black tank top, or at the tiny lip puckering as she quietly pleaded for her brother’s forgiveness, even if she’d gotten hurt as a result of his lack of care.

Those sparkly blue eyes would _not_ be ignored, and neither would the rosy face falling like that of a cherubic puppy, bringing him to his knees in exactly the same way his favorite scientist always could, pulling every string in his squishy heart with a skill that a creature as young as herself shouldn’t even be sophisticated enough to comprehend yet, but which she’d already mastered like a fine craft.

“_Funny…_” Vegeta murmured in awe, secretly admiring his daughter’s flair for compassion, one of the many virtues that she surely hadn’t inherited from a vengeful fighter like him. “Okay,” he resolved after a long, deep sigh, finding the perfect excuse to let the boys off easy from their dopey mischief, without looking like the big old softie that he knew himself to be turning into. “Go to the kitchen, boy, your grandmother has been looking for you all morning. It looks like she needs your help,” he dictated, allowing his son to feel a glimmer of mercy behind the gruffness in his tone. “I’ll take care of this...” He announced, his demeanor softening considerably as he secured the little princess in his arms, turning on his feet and marching to his marital room.

“Sure thing, Papa!” Trunks readily complied, extending his father’s orders to his best pal too by grabbing Goten by the thick sleeve of his sweatshirt, and pulling with a vengeance, making the poor dolt almost lose his balance as he was forced to follow right behind him. “Bra?” The older boy called through the long corridor one last time, seeking his sister’s attention before he’d lose sight of her. “Are you okay?” His coy question came as soon as the little brat peeped at him, through the curve of her beloved Papa’s neck, with brightly curious eyes, stealing a grateful wink from the relieved young man when she nodded eagerly at him, the widest grin illuminating her toothless mouth, looking pretty damn proud of herself for having just saved the lives of her two special playmates. 

The Prince’s steps never slowed down while the brief exchange took place but, try as he might, he simply couldn’t suppress the faint smile now gracing his lips, taking great pleasure in the doting synergy always surrounding both siblings, a fond connection born from the moment his mate entrusted Trunks with the immense responsibility of caring for his new baby sister. 

When Vegeta had gathered the courage, at last, to ask his wife for another child, one of her greatest reservations had been her fear of the large age gap between them making the boy uninterested in spending quality time with a much younger child, as well as the heartbreaking possibility of their little girl not having someone closer to her age to play with and lark about.

It’d been a realistic concern indeed, just one of the many reasons to make him hate himself for having been so stupid for so incredibly long, so blind to the good fortunes that Life had blessed him with, utterly unaware of the joy he’d get to experience by giving into his beautiful woman’s wishes, a kind of happiness second to none, paling by comparison to whatever superficial satisfaction he may have obtained taking refuge in his imprudent Saiyan ego.

In the end, the couple’s apprehension had come to nothing and, although their eldest son had recently come of age, getting an even greater taste of freedom, and a cheeky penchant for the ladies, he also seemed to have found the perfect way to alternate his newfound independence with spending great amounts of time with his dear baby sister, often asking Kakarot’s youngest boy to join them in their intrepid adventures away from home.

Teaching how to hide her ki to someone as inexperienced in the arts of combat as Bra Briefs, had been a colossal slip but, even through his momentary bout of rage, Vegeta’s chest had secretly swelled with pride, both at his little girl being able to learn, and somehow master, such a complex skill at her early age, and at the vision of that couple of gutsy teenagers being patient, and generous enough, to make the effort to share their knowledge with the hyperactive brat.

“Alright,” he gently encouraged her as he stepped into the private bathroom of his lavish room, his trusting daughter held safe and sound in his arms, vivid gaze wandering through the contents of her parents’ large medicine cabinet as her father unlocked it for her. “Which ones would you like today?” 

It’d become quite a ritual in the Briefs household, the solemn ceremony of selecting _just_ the right band-aid for every occasion, picking and choosing from a wide selection of colorful plasters and decorated bandages, each one more extravagant than the last, a tradition that started long before their first child was even conceived, back in the early days of the couple’s rocky beginnings.

Earth’s primitive medicine had always felt like an irritating obstacle to the petulant warrior, an impediment constantly delaying his healing process beyond what he’d deemed reasonable. But it didn’t take long for Vegeta to learn that, what the unrefined blue rock lacked in technological sophistication, it more than made up for in raw beauty, in the shape of the softest, kindest hands ever to touch his flawed skin.

It was his Bulma the one to teach him the importance of the simplest things, of those tiny puffs of air delicately caressing him as she’d blow on his countless wounds, bringing him instant relief from the mild sting of antiseptic, or the proud glow in her striking eyes whenever she’d dress his injuries to perfection.

Most intriguing of all was the mystical power of her nurturing signs of affection, sentimental gestures of no use in appearance, but which would prove to be, time and time again, more effective than the most advanced of Frieza’s remedies.

Light kisses brushing his excruciatingly sore body, her hot breath tickling the nape of his neck when she’d sneak into his single bed in the darkest hours, during those long, sleepless nights, too exhausted to even find the strength to seek her warmth in her own room.

And she’d take it away, _all of it_, all the pain and humiliation, the bottomless fear of a Golden Dream that never seemed to materialize, burying every one of his terrors underneath a warm blanket of drowsy sighs and silly whispers, distracting him from his own Demons with nothing but girly stories and long fingers, his heartbeat quietening as she held him in her arms, cuddling him like a child, and showing that, sometimes, a little love was the best medicine to ease a man’s suffering, a valuable lesson that Vegeta was now only too happy to share with their rowdy children.

“That one! That one, Papa!” Bra insisted with zeal, a plump finger pointing to the black and yellow box remarkably standing out from all the others.

“These?” Vegeta asked for confirmation, the small packet already in his hand, not surprised in the least by his daughter’s expected choice.

“Yup!” The little brat agreed, holding tight to her Papa as he carefully walked her to his massive bed. “BATMAN!!!” She exclaimed when her bottom touched the mattress, short legs dangling playfully in the air, completely unaware of the knowing smirk curving the Prince’s mouth as he knelt before her, rummaging through the messy contents of one of the drawers in his wife’s nightstand.

He was laughing at himself, at how embarrassingly long it’d taken him to discover that the flamboyant band-aids his mate used to wrap him in were actually designed with children in mind.

By the time the Prince found out that adults wouldn’t often be caught dead sporting neon pink plasters featuring cartoon characters, diminutive flowers, or cutesy animals, there was no Salvation for him, for his woman’s spell had already worked its magic, and all that was left for him to do was to shut up and bear it, pretending not to notice that the wicked woman was having the time of her life at his cranky expense. 

And now their indomitable brood was following such a noble family tradition, having developed a particularly fond taste for Earth’s puny _‘superheroes’_.

If memory served Vegeta right, when Trunks was much younger, he’d had quite a soft spot for that scrawny teenage boy pretending to be some sort of spider; and now, his stubborn daughter was completely potty about this _‘bat man’_ fellow. And, even if the warrior didn’t fully comprehend what the Devil was so attractive about some weakling human, with no actual superpowers, prancing around in some ridiculous outfit and a permanent chest cough, he knew that there was nothing that would ever be denied to his little girl.

“Blow, Papa…” Bra pleaded in a sulky whisper, instinctively bringing her scraped knee to her chest when she noticed the white bottle of antiseptic in her father’s grasp.

“Bra, this is the special one your Mother bought for you, remember?” Vegeta quietly explained, with that rare patience exclusively reserved for his wife and children. “This one won’t sting…” 

“Nuh-uh!” She fussed in childish fear, tiny legs fidgeting nervously on the thick duvet. “Blow, Papa! _Pleeeeease_…”

“Alright,” the Prince sighed in defeat, forever conquered by those large, sheepish eyes on the verge of tears. “Come here…” He softly demanded, tending an indulgent hand to the anxious kiddie, and earning her instant trust, just as he always did.

Rationally speaking, the fighter knew his daughter to be stronger, far stronger than any human child could ever dream to be, just as he knew that her tolerance for pain was way higher, or that such a small assortment of insignificant cuts and bruises would heal at full throttle.

But it was just as clear to him that all reason went out the window when it came to seeing any member of his treasured family getting hurt someway, having fully accepted by now that the absurd overprotectiveness taking over his soul came with the syrupy territory of being a family man.

“Blow, _Papa_…” She begged once more, pudgy toes wriggling happily at the cooling sensation of her father’s breath, meticulously cleaning every one of her superficial scratches as if she were the most precious thing in the entire Universe.

“So… How did you get hurt?” Vegeta asked as he kept applying the disinfectant with a fluffy cotton ball, gradually finding relief in the child’s good spirits, but unable to hide his increasing curiosity regarding the specific details of her mysterious accident. “Was it on the tree?”

“Nope…” Bra shook her head no, her candid glance following her hero’s every task with fascination. “Bra was on the tree for a long, _long_ time… And… And Trunks and Goten were looking for Bra in the park, but… But they couldn’t find her! And… _And_…” 

“And?” He asked in kind encouragement, her sudden shyness not lost on him.

“And Bra… Bra was tired of waiting, so…” She paused briefly, her pretty brow creasing in mortification. “So, Bra… Bra jumped from the tree and she tried to fly but… _But_…”

“But you couldn’t, right?” He smoothly finished her sentence for her, finally getting a full picture of the exact cause behind her injuries. “You were tired, so you fell from the tree. Is that what happened?” 

Her sad eyes, staring miserably at her parents’ plush carpet, was all the answer the Prince ever needed. “_Yah_…” She confessed with a fearful murmur, deeply ashamed of not being as strong yet as the two men she looked up to the most.

“Bra, look at me, child…” Vegeta urged her in his most gracious voice, tenderly tipping up his little girl’s scraped chin. “What happened was natural, do you understand?” He comforted her, a gentle thumb wiping off the salty drops brimming in the corner of those aquatic eyes. “Hiding your… Your _little ball of energy_, and flying at the same time requires a lot of effort, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of. _Understood_?”

“Y-Yah…” She assented with reserve, a dazzling grin invading her lovely mouth when her father dedicated her one of _those_ smiles, one of those pure, honest-to-Gods smiles that were the Galaxy’s best-kept secret. “Trunks said that too…”

“Your brother?” He questioned, a sharp eyebrow arching in wonder, thoroughly intrigued by his son’s approach towards handling the most vulnerable member of the family. “Trunks said the same thing?”

“Yup!” Bra concurred, quickly leaving her past embarrassment behind, thanks to her Papa’s compassionate help. “Bra was crying, and… And Trunks said not to cry, he said it… It was normal too…”

A large hand rested on the child’s tousled hair, feeling the tiny creature hiccupping quietly beneath his paternal touch as she bravely struggled to regain her composure. “It looks like your brother is quite smart,” Vegeta acknowledged, inwardly pleased with his son’s emotional intelligence, able to handle such delicate matters in ways he never could have as a young man.

“More than Mama?” The stunned kid gasped in marvel, filled with astonishment at the mere possibility of someone surpassing her adored Mama’s intellect.

“No, Bra,” Vegeta chuckled good-naturedly, amused by the girl’s heart-warming admiration towards his own little blue-haired genius. “I don’t think there’s anyone smarter than your Mama,” he proudly declared, stroking his daughter’s disheveled locks one last time, and getting rid of a minute leaf stuck in her hair, before going back to his healing task at hand. “But he’s still pretty smart…” He admitted, caring fingers dabbing the largest of her wounds, the one on her fleshy knee, cleaning it painstakingly with yet another cotton ball. “Alright, I think we’re done here…”

“No Batman, _Papa_?” She asked in a mopey whisper, the corners of her broody mouth turning down disappointedly as she extended one of her wide-open palms to him.

“Oh, _right_…” He bore in mind, startled by the tiny hand almost poking him in the eye. “Stay still,” he demanded with calmness, keeping that cutesy hand in place as he promptly reached for the black box on the nightstand.

“The booboos, _Papa_…” Bra prompted him still, smiling from ear to ear when her father succumbed to her wishes before she could even finish her needy request.

The Prince’s coarse hands gladly indulged his daughter’s plea, covering her larger wounds to perfection by sticking each and every one of those adhesive plasters with utmost care, before rounding off his cure with his shy lips, quite literally showering the child’s small body with long, devoted kisses.

Vegeta’s mouth gingerly skimmed over her skin, his touch light as dreams, amazed by his own inner peace, and by how achingly comfortable he’d grown to feel cossetting the little brat in such a way.

Not too many years ago, he’d frequently found himself scoffing in disdain at his motherly wife, whenever he’d catch her smothering Trunks with effusive cuddles and loud smooches, and often berating her for coddling their son far too much, worried about the dangers of the young boy becoming too soft a warrior due to what he’d considered a pointless overprotectiveness. 

And, it wasn’t even that long ago, when he’d felt the tips of his ears burning hysterically at his Bulma’s cheeky request to kiss their little girl’s _‘booboos’_ for the very first time, generously inviting him to try it for himself, to discover the unexpected pleasure that a father could experience by doing something as significantly trivial as pushing aside his ego, and shamelessly dote on the weepy child sniffling inconsolably while looking at him as if he were the greatest man ever born.

On that day, faded sparks of the smug, condescending fool he used to be, had briefly burnt in his mind as he’d approached his daughter with cautious steps, every one of his selfish insecurities vanishing into thin air the moment he knelt before her, the fearful kiss, laid on one of those grazed knees, turning Bra’s disconsolate tears into the most ecstatic spell of laughter. 

There were no words, no logical way to describe the rare sense of contentment capturing his spirit in that very instant, or the bitter regret painfully jamming his throat at the sight of his wife’s _‘I told you so’_ smirk, the knowing smile of a mother jumping for joy now that she’d finally let the hotheaded father of her children in on her most valuable secret: that there was no shame in opening his heart, all the way, in front of their family, and that the tiniest, most apparently insignificant gestures, could mean the world to a helpless child.

“Better?” Vegeta’s husky whisper asked, finding the answer he was so desperately looking for in the cute dimples prettying up Bra’s cheeks when she smiled broadly at him. “Alright,” the relieved father exhaled, giving his daughter’s chubby thigh a reassuring squeeze before turning his sights back to the nightstand, grabbing hold of one of the endless packets of baby wipes that his clever little wife had scattered all over their busy home. “Let’s get you cleaned up before your Mother sees you…” He resolved, already proceeding to work on the _very_ black soles of the brat’s untamed feet, not even bothering to ask Bulma’s mini-me about what tragic fate had her shoes suffered through this time.

By now, the warrior had already noticed his girl’s human side to be fairly predominant so far, but there were still quite a few clues in her spirited behavior that were a dead sign of the restlessness of her Saiyan instincts, one of them being her complete inability to keep her blasted shoes on for more than a hot minute, a pesky habit she’d seemingly inherited from his own younger self.

To this day, Vegeta still held vague recollections of his larger-than-life Mother angrily chasing after him each time she was informed of his bratty refusal to wear his customary combat boots during his early training sessions, just as he could remember the not-so-vague pain knocking him out whenever she’d employ the subtle, but oddly powerful, method of yanking his tail until he did as he was told.

And, though his Bulma was too softhearted to implement the Queen’s fiercely sophisticated techniques, she’d somehow managed to make a reasonably good deal with the youngest member in the Briefs home, successfully convincing her to wear shoes whilst in the city, and on formal occasions, in exchange for some well-deserved freedom during her mischievous escapades with her brother and father.

“Okay, let’s clean your back now…” He soothingly instructed, large hands enfolding his little one’s small torso, lifting her off the bed like a breeze, and making her stand in front of him as he kept kneeling on the ground, leaning a tad closer to her.

Vegeta worked on her narrow shoulders with calm diligence, wiping off as many traces of soil and dried up grass as he could from her porcelain skin, extending his ministrations down, across her dinky arms, and all the way back upwards, patiently guiding her as she obediently turned on her feet for him, squirming adorably when the cooling wipes touched the wriggly shoulder blades exposed through the thin straps of her bright red dress. 

When the little munchkin was clean enough in the eyes of her perfectionist father, the time came to take care of those sloppy pigtails, besotted hands setting free that fine, turquoise hair, making use of one of his wife’s small combs to disentangle such a lovely mess, lock by lock, taking great care not to hurt her by pulling with too much force, and using his doting chore as an excuse to run his fingers all through those soft tresses, a gesture of affection that the little girl loved just as much as her mother did.

“All done,” Vegeta proudly concluded, taking one last glance at that perfectly brushed mane of downy hair, before drawing his attentions to her sandy, wrinkly dress, wondering if he should seriously consider changing his daughter’s attire before lunchtime.

But, before he could decide on whether or not going through such trouble would be worth it, the pair of mesmerized blue eyes, gawking at him in worried enthrallment, made him soon realize that the shrewd kid already had other plans in mind for him.

“_What_…? What is it?” He asked under his breath, just as taken with the child’s fascination as she seemed to be with him.

“Papa has a booboo…” Bra whispered dazedly, bitty lips gaped while she watched him in bewilderment.

“I do?” The warrior instantly rejoined, dark brows knitting, absolutely gobsmacked as to how it was possible for him to be wounded in any way, without feeling not even a smidge of pain in return. 

A chubby finger, shamelessly poking him _just_ above his left eye, solved his baffling enigma for him right away. “_There_…” The credulous child pointed out with a murmur, tiny finger never budging, gullibly oblivious to the fact that, if her father’s injury had been a serious one, her bold gesture would have actually made matters worse. 

“Here?” He asked once again, promptly replacing his daughter’s concerned finger with one of his own, his features relaxing at once when he learned that his mysterious _‘booboo’_ was nothing but a minor scratch he’d gotten during one of his regular training sessions, inside his cherished Gravity Room. “It’s an old scratch, Bra. I got it days ago…”

“But… But Bra…” The little cub scowled in discontent, clearly disappointed in herself for having missed such a vital incident in her Papa’s life. “Bra didn’t kiss the booboo!”

“I know, Bra,” Vegeta reassured her, deeply moved, as he always was, by the look of worry beaming in those innocent eyes. “But it’s an old scratch, so it doesn’t really matter _anym_…”

“Bra will kiss the booboo now!” She resolved with a breathless gasp, eyes wide as silver dollars, as if her ingeniously naïve brain had just conjured up the greatest plan of all time.

“Bra, there’s no need,” he coolly insisted, trying to spare himself from having to endure yet another one of those schmaltzy moments that would turn his poor, cold heart to jelly. “It doesn’t even hurt _anym_…”

“BRA WILL KISS THE BOOBOO NOW!!!” She yawped out of the blue, miniature fists clenched on both sides of her pocket-sized body, and a bare foot stubbornly stomping on the fluffy carpet, with a spunk that would have made her Saiyan forefathers proud. “NOW!!!”

The warrior let out a weak groan of defeat, his entire self buckling, knowing that this was a deadly battle lost before he’d ever have a real chance to fight. So, he leaned back slightly, sitting atop his feet while still kneeling on the floor, ready to suffer through whatever adorable shenanigans his daughter would choose to inflict upon him this time.

“Alright,” Vegeta surrendered as he sat straight, eyes wide shut, and arms folded solemnly on his chest. “You may kiss the booboo…”

However, his charade didn’t last long and, in less than a nanosecond, he found himself peeking at the girl’s antics through the corner of one eye, his mouth pursed inwards, holding back a laugh at how damn charming she looked sticking her full hand inside the small box and digging through it, embarking on a meticulous search for the perfect band-aid to heal her Papa, even if every single one of those Batman strips looked _exactly_ the same.

Poky feet climbed on Vegeta’s thighs, the child’s young clumsiness unconsciously forcing her overprotective father to grab hold of her narrow waist, trying to steady her as those fumbling hands reached for the minor scrape above his left eye.

There was _something_ about her, something in the awkwardness of her childish manners that never failed to make him fall to pieces.

The Prince hadn’t quite managed to figure out yet why that was but, whether it had to do with those baby blue eyebrows crumpling in distress whenever she focused on his slight wound, or with those disarming little teeth, chewing on her bottom lip as she glued that black-and-yellow band-aid with as much care as those unskilled fingers would let her, he didn’t know, all he knew was this _need_, this imperious need to wrap his arms around her, and trap her inside a gilded cage so that the World would never touch her.

“Bra will kiss the booboo now, _Papa_…” Bra murmured softly, almost to herself, her intense stare never leaving the wrinkly plaster now poorly covering her father’s scratch.

“Go on…” Vegeta whispered in invitation, his supportive hug tightening around her, pulling her nearer to him as the little angel planted both palms firmly on his cheeks, standing on tiptoes so as to better reach for her father’s nick.

A light grunt vibrated through her weensy frame when she laid her first kiss, her smooch loud and gooey, smiling dreamily into the Prince’s skin in response to his natural reaction.

“It tickles, Papa!” She sniggered, acting just as surprised as she’d been the very first time Vegeta had amused her like this. “Again!!!” She pleaded, all thoughts of her father’s booboo suddenly forgotten now that she could see him more than willing to play one of their favorite secret games together.

“Again?” He chuckled in mock disbelief, a lopsided smirk mumbling playfully in her ear as he brought himself even closer. “Then you know what you have to do…”

Bra’s lovesome face perked up at once, nodding excitedly at him before throwing those puny arms of hers around his sturdy neck, happy to comply with her Papa’s command, and placing another kiss on one of his flushed cheeks this time. 

She kissed him again, and_ again_, shrieking with laughter every single time her naughty father grunted louder and louder against her in return, her sensitive body twisting and turning gleefully in his arms, morphing into a giggly little bundle cackling hysterically on his lap, hopelessly clutching her stomach when Vegeta culminated his hilarious sneak attack by blowing the grandest of all raspberries on her squirmy neck.

He kept her close then, taking his time as he watched her gradually trying to come back down to Earth, and priding himself on having the uncanny power to warm the cockles of his child’s heart with such miraculous ease. Even now, he sometimes had a hard time believing that such silly gestures, gestures that he’d often discovered by pure chance, could bring the exuberant girl as much joy as they obviously did.

“You’re funny, Papa!” The smiling urchin exclaimed, still gulping for air, collecting herself little by little as she struggled to sit on her father’s thighs.

“I am?” Vegeta asked back, sly smugness spreading on his lips at the vision of her small fists lazily rubbing those turquoise eyes, drying off the happy tears sparkling on her thin eyelashes.

“Yup!” Bra proclaimed with delight, finding her way back to the safety of her Papa’s neck, and burying her rosy face in the curve of his shoulder, a quiet demand to be held with just as much warmth. “_You’re funny_…” She whispered almost inaudibly.

The warrior accepted his daughter’s offer with gratitude, taking her in his arms and delicately nuzzling her silky hair, just behind one of her ears, greedily taking in the fresh scent always emanating from her, that crisp, immaculate perfume that would forever bring solace to every corner of his heart.

She smelled of a bright day of Spring, of faint traces of that tangerine baby shampoo that he knew so well, and of that magical, almost fairylike alchemy that had blessed him with the opportunity to merge his life essence with that of his Bulma, allowing them to create such an irresistible little creature, a child that was, at once, as utterly unique as she was an intrinsic part of the both of them.

“Bra…” Vegeta called for her in a placid whisper, sensing her breathing steadily cooling down, after having kept her in a tight embrace for a long while.

“Uh?”

“There’s something I need from you,” he urged her, kind fingers timidly brushing aside the long bangs now hiding some of that curiously blue gaze from him. “Something I need you to promise me…”

Her Papa’s grave tone, so rarely directed towards her during their alone time together, awoke her interest at once. “Yah?” She promptly replied, nosy eyes seeking his as her needy fingers kept selfishly clutching the thick straps of his tank top. 

“I need you to promise me that you…” He hesitated, trying to express himself through _just_ the right words, without hurting his daughter’s frail feelings on the way. “That you’ll never hide your… Your _little ball of energy_ again, unless I ask you to…” 

The Prince’s voice may have been as well-meaning as it could be, but the crooks of that cherry mouth suddenly falling in sorrow revealed just how much the little cub relied on her father’s approval, disheartened by even the slightest hint of criticism.

“Did…?” She whimpered unhappily, a choked sob rushing to her tiny chest. “Did Bra do something bad?” 

“No, child,” Vegeta hurried to comfort her, a calloused palm soothingly petting her hair, before tucking a loose strand behind her ear with heartbreaking tenderness. “You did nothing wrong. Hiding your energy is not an easy thing to do, and I am actually very, _very_ proud of you right now,” he confessed. “It’s just that I… I _need_ to know where you are at all times.” 

“But… But why, Papa?” She moped weakly, still unsure as to why there could be anything wrong with her brother’s innocent teachings. “Bra thought it was _funny_…” 

“Bra, that’s not… That’s not the reason why...” He stumbled, already finding himself scrabbling for words, stepping into a territory that still felt much too foreign to him. “It’s just that… _Well_…”

“It’s just that your Papa would be really sad, Bra,” his wife’s mellow voice entered the scene, saving him from his own emotional stupidity, just as she always did.

“MAMA!!!” The elated ragamuffin sang as soon as she saw her mother, sitting comfortably on the carpet, right by their side.

“Hi, Sweetie!” Bulma greeted her, huffing in contentment when her daughter literally crashed against her, jumping from the Prince’s arms and straight into her own. “Are you okay?” She asked with plain concern, conscientiously inspecting the child as she held her in her arms, much like her husband had checked on her when he’d first seen her before.

“Yup!” Bra insisted, her adorably wide grin setting her Mama’s worried heart at rest.

“Ah! That’s good!” She cried in relief, maternal fears growing into cheeky amusement when she noticed the flashy band-aids covering her child’s luminous skin. “I see you chose Batman today. Did Papa kiss your booboos?”

“YAH!”

Bulma’s hand cupped the girl’s face, a light thumb brushing her pink cheek as she returned that contagiously carefree smile of hers. “Your Papa really is the best Papa, isn’t he?” She whispered in Bra’s snoopy ear, knowing damn well that the flustered Saiyan could hear every flattering word coming from her lips. “Bra,” she susurrated, securing the relaxed tot in the safeness of her lap by hugging her closer. “Did you know that I was the one to teach your Papa how to kiss a booboo?”

“Uh? Really, Papa?” The awed kid inquired, gasping in amazement when a _very_ embarrassed Prince nodded in assent. “_Woah…_” 

“That’s right…” Bulma proudly went on, pressing her elegant cheek against her daughter’s chubby one, and lovingly rubbing it back and forth as she revealed her superpowers to the shocked girl. “Papa is from Space, and people in Space don’t usually kiss each other’s booboos, so Mama had to teach Papa how we care for each other here on Earth.”

“B-But… But if Papa _never_…?” Bra squinted in babyish confusion, an unexpected grief taking hold of her. “_So_…? So, no one kissed Papa’s booboos when he was small?”

“Um, well… Not _really_…” The heiress wavered, her brilliant brain working overtime to quickly get her child’s mind out of such somber thoughts. “But hey!” She exclaimed with the most alluring smirk, giving her daughter’s ticklish body a heartwarming squeeze. “Now Papa has_ tons_ of people to kiss his booboos, right?!”

“_Right_…” The baffled girl answered in a low whisper, still somehow disappointed by the sad fact that her loved Papa never really got to enjoy the kind of overindulgent coddling that she’d always pretty much taken for granted.

“And we’ll _always_ kiss Papa’s booboos, won’t we?” She promised confidently, a vow which her husband knew to be dedicated more to him than to their naïve child.

“YAH!!!” Bra proclaimed, briefly turning to face Vegeta with the most determined little scowl scrunching up her forehead, an earnest oath to compensate her Papa for all of those lost years, promising to shower him with more kissed booboos than he’d ever know.

“_Good girl_…” Bulma mumbled adoringly into her skin, landing the longest kiss on the kiddie’s temple. “Now Bra, about what your Papa told you before,” she highlighted, her attitude getting slightly serious as she shifted her attention back to the latest mess those two crazy Saiyan boys had made this time. “I just saw Trunks and Goten in the kitchen with Grandma, and they told me all about what happened earlier today,” she informed, running long, affectionate fingers through her mini-twin’s hair while she spoke, in hopes of keeping the child as calm as possible. “Now, Papa and I are really proud of what you did, Bra, so you didn’t do anything bad. But, like your Papa said, it would be better if you don’t do it again unless he asks you to…”

“But… But Bra…” She shyly boggled. “Bra thought it was _funny_, Mama…”

“Sweetie, I know that. But, remember what I just told you? Papa would be very sad if he couldn’t find you…” The scientist reminded her, gently taking that angelic face in her hands. “Bra, your Papa can feel your _little ball of energy_ everywhere you go, so he knows where you are all the time, even when you’re not together, and that makes him very, _very_ happy, Honey. And we want Papa to be happy, right?”

The child’s doll-like eyes broadened in sheer astonishment, absolutely dumbstruck by the lifechanging discovery that, her mere existence, seemed to be enough to bring happiness to the man who mattered to her the most.

“Is…? Is that true, Papa?” Bra asked, a heavy tinge of remorse lacing her voice. “Papa! Hug!” She implored immediately after Vegeta confirmed his wife’s shameful theory with a silent nod, anxiously stretching her arms in her father’s direction, short fingers wriggling as she tried to come up with a way to restore his confidence. “Bra will never hide her little ball again, Papa…” Her secretive whisper hummed in his ear, trapping him in the fiercest baby bear hug when she settled on his lap again. “_Never_…” 

Vegeta’s arms draped themselves around her with not even a thought, as if the most natural place for his playful little Devil were right there, by his side. “_Thank you_…” He susurrated on her warm cheek, two meaningful little words he’d always been too stupidly proud to pronounce in front of anyone, two meaningful little words that he knew his wife and children to deserve more than _anyone_ in his Universe.

“Um… _Uh_…” Trunks’ meek rasp broke in, timidly disrupting a sappy scene that had become more and more common over the last few years at Capsule Corp. “Sorry to interrupt, Mama, but we’re leaving now, so if Bra wants to come…” 

“Ah! Sure! I haven’t had the chance to ask her yet…” Bulma admitted, pleased as Punch to see her sweet boy so keen to spend some time with his little sister. “Bra, Grandma wants Trunks and Goten to go to that bakery shop we like so much to get some desserts, and Trunks offered to take you with them and buy you some ice cream. You wanna go?”

“Uh?” Bra breathed in exhilaration, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the prospect of even _more_ fun with her big brother, plus a delicious treat to top it all. “Can Bra go, Papa?” She probed, eager to gorge on some yummy sweets, yet still worried about abandoning her upset father in case he still needed her beside him.

“You can go,” Vegeta approved, already standing on his feet, and sitting the overexcited brat right on his son’s shoulders, more than accustomed by now to seeing the young boy carrying around their family’s brightest jewel in such way.

“Ready?” Trunks asked one last time, trying to look up at his baby sister as he battled with her flowy dress, carefully moving it away from his eyes, and smirking knowingly at her when she greeted him with a festive chuckle.

“We’ll be back for lunch!” Goten waved goodbye to the alleviated couple, tagging along behind the Briefs siblings as they left through the corridor, and already giving some serious thought to the highly crucial details of the new mission they were all about to embark on. “Say Bra… What kind of ice cream are you gonna get?” 

“A lot!”

“Um…” Trunks horned in with a frisky snicker, knowing what his sister’s answer would be before he’d even dare to ask. “A lot of ice cream, or a lot of flavors?”

“A LOT!!!” Bra fearlessly shouted out, small but resolute arms up in the air, more than ready to devour every available stock of tasty frozen desserts in town.

The last thing Vegeta could still somehow eavesdrop on, before the demi-Saiyan squad disappeared from his view, was the youngest Son child mumbling _“Oh boy…”_ as he wondered if there’d be any sweets left for the rest of the clan once the ravenous brat had it her way at the confectionary shop.

Strained lungs heaved the longest sigh of relief when the Prince was finally alone, with his wife as only companion, rough hands running lazily through his scalp as he sat back down on the floor, gradually trying to recover from all the built-up tension of the morning’s events, a kind of pressure that only those brave enough to give fatherhood their best shot would ever get to understand. 

“What is it?” He asked almost bashfully, suddenly hypnotized by the seductive blue eyes feasting on him as if _he_ were his woman’s favorite ice cream flavor. 

“Nothing…” Bulma shrugged with coquettish indifference, crawling towards him like a cute, indolent little tigress, before resting her perfect bum on his startled thighs. “I was just thinking…” She whispered flirtatiously, flawlessly manicured nails grazing her husband’s handsome face. “I was thinking of the first time I kissed your _booboos_…” She confessed, a rare hint of melancholy hidden in her voice, running the tip of her index finger across the creased band-aid covering one of the grumpy eyebrows she’d come to love so much. “Do you…? Do you _remember_?” 

He nodded.

The Prince could remember that moment, and he remembered it well, the profound emotions awakening inside of him during that cold, winter night still alive within his heart, as vivid now as they had been once upon a time, more than ten years ago.

It’d all occurred between the four cramped walls of their home’s laundry room, not long after he’d ended up passing out amongst a massive mountain of freshly pressed linen and spongy towels, his consciousness precariously fading away after having spent what felt like hours roaming in the dark throughout the huge mansion, in search of anything that would stop the gushing bleeding of his mangled arm and shoulder.

As he looked back, Vegeta could still find no reason, not even _one_ reason, that could possibly explain his wife’s behavior towards a man who’d been merely a treacherous stranger to her in those days, a dangerously bitter freeloader who’d taken as much from her and her overgenerous family as he could, giving her nothing more than hostile orders and indifferent silences as sole _‘reward’_.

But, for all that, the stubborn woman never deserted him, like his own Guardian Angel, always compassionate, ever protective, saving him from himself more times than he could count, truly believing that he deserved a real chance in Life, even during those deadly, miserable moments in which he’d secretly wondered if it wouldn’t be better to surrender to Fatality, and be done with it all.

And yet, there she was, a fuzzy, almost ghostly vision of blue, kneeling before him on the cold hard tiles of that claustrophobic chamber, dressing his wounds with a care meant for men far greater than him.

His alertness had been painfully blurred back then, vaguely aware of even his own gloomy surroundings, and just enough to notice the first-aid kit carelessly scattered by their side, the scarlet-stained towels serving his aching body as improvised bed, or the crispy white bandages covering his injuries without flaw, the earnest work, no doubt, of the sad little female quietly biting her trembling lip as she kept her eyes on his shattered fingers.

If he closed his eyes, losing himself within the confines of his most precious memories, Vegeta could still hear the hollow sound of his heart skipping a beat when those tiny hands enfolded his broken fist, even after she’d done her all to restore him with her soothing attentions.

And, if he closed them _just_ a little longer, he could still drown in the shaky breath ghosting his bruised knuckles, and her mouth, a mouth as velvety as a rose’s petals, laying the most tender kisses on each and every one of his fingers, lavishing him inch by agonizing inch, before spilling a flood of hot tears all over the frozen hand that felt as though it didn’t belong to him anymore.

She’d been the first creature to ever grace him with such kindness, the only one to ever cry for him, strumming into the heartstrings of a heart he’d thought dead far too many years ago, a heart she’d discovered before he even knew _what_ to do with it.

A man as untried in romance as the Saiyan Prince had known, even then, that his Bulma didn’t belong in the tragic madness that was his world. But only now did he comprehend that his pathetic inexperience was never reason enough to stop this intrepid woman from making the choice she made on that bleak night, the choice to _wait_ for him, no matter how long, until he was ready, strong enough, _wise_ enough to accept that there was still a much richer existence awaiting at the tips of his avid fingers, and all that was left for him was to simply reach up and _take_ it all.

The earthy scent of lavender soap stirred his most irrational fears when she curled up innocently against him on the cool floors, frightened to death by the image of her pristine, yellow pastel pajamas tarnished by the blood-soaked towels enveloping them both.

But nothing would hold her back. 

Not that night.

_Not any night._

Nothing would keep those dainty hands from holding his own disfigured one, placing it protectively on her lap as if he were just as fragile, just as vulnerable as _she_ was, and resting her drowsy head on his good shoulder without a care in the world, the pads of her soft fingers delicately petting his scarred skin as they dozed off side by side, perhaps already holding the secret hope that, one fine day, the enigmatic warrior she’d already fallen in love with might be skilled enough to nurture others in the same way she’d nurtured him.

“_Hey_…” Bulma’s melodic whisper snapped him out of it, rescuing him from the whirlpool of dim thoughts she could so easily see him sinking into. “Are you with me?”

“_Hn_…” He grumbled in broody reply, idle lips brushing his wife’s in search of that warm, breezy comfort that only she could indulge him with.

“Good,” she giggled invitingly, her lithe body melting languidly against him as her mouth descended on his, gladly rewarding her man for a job well done with the help of a long, passionate kiss. “I was just thanking you for taking care of things today,” she reassured him, heartening hands cupping his cheeks as their lips met once again. “You did _well_…” 

Vegeta’s body followed her just as it always did, his senseless need for her outweighing the chaos he’d gone through earlier in the day, arms fastening possessively around his little cherry bomb of a woman, kissing her within an inch of her life, and taking shelter in the curve of her shoulder when their smoldering kiss soon lead to some serious cuddling and lulling head-scratching.

“It suits you, _you know_…” The heiress’ cheeky voice murmured enticingly after a comfortable silence, making her husband’s gaze raise curiously towards the woman staring at their reflection in their closet’s full-length mirror, only to realize that she was referring to the cursed _‘bat man’_ plaster forever glued to his brow. “I think we’re looking really _cute_ today, don’t you think?” She said with a light lift of her chin, her cheek squeezed against his, just as their daughter loved to do, as they both contemplated the image contained in the polished glass.

Pitch-black eyes took in every scrap of it, the astounding vision of a man who’d once worn his battle gear like a second skin, now sitting casually in his finest sweatpants, atop their woolly carpet, buried amongst the gigantic pile of plushy toys and dirty baby wipes sprinkled all over the place, and holding tightly onto the gorgeous wife canoodling him to death as she straddled his strong thighs.

_He used to blow up planets for a living._

Seriously.

_For _

_A_

_Living._

And now here he was, spewing infantile nonsense on a daily basis, and stoically letting the women of his life wrap him up in florescent bandages as he spoke of _‘little balls of energy’_ and scraggy _‘superheroes’_, grunting into his brat’s chubby neck because _‘it tickled’_, and warming up his little girl’s milk whenever they wolfed down bag after bag of those king-sized, chocolate chip cookies in the middle of the night.

The man he used to be, the ruthless warrior once obsessed with nothing other than power and an unquenchable quest to avenge an Old World that would come back no more, would have found his behavior an utter disgrace. An ugly, uncomfortable feeling he hadn’t been fully capable of shaking off for years on end, not after the birth of his firstborn child, or even long after he’d vowed to remain by the side of a family he’d never ever envisioned to begin with. 

But, on a fresh morning of Spring, the reprimanding echoes of the absent father rolling stormily in his grave, the Saiyan King plaguing and tormenting him without end for the unconventional choices he’d ultimately made in life, had now given way to the jubilant sounds of their chirpy children, laughing to their heart’s content in the gardens while batting around the endless flavors of ice cream they’d get to sample today.

And, as Vegeta drank in the glorious smile glowing on his mate’s face, the exquisitely smug smile of a woman who’d fought tooth and nail to build the home that she’d always dreamed of, he knew that things were just as they should be, and that he wouldn’t change a thing, not a single thing, about the life of the family man proudly looking him in the eye inside the depths of that golden mirror.

_“Well, he’d be damned… _

_Perhaps, they did look ‘cute’ today, after all…” _


End file.
